This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(20)

And yet—

Alizeh was plagued always by an unsettling suspicion that her parents’ deaths had not been random. Despite their diligent efforts to keep Alizeh’s existence concealed, she worried; for it was not only her parents, but all those whose lives had once touched hers who’d vanished in a series of similar tragedies. Alizeh could not help but wonder whether the true target of all this violence had been someone else entirely—

Her.

With no proof to corroborate such a theory, Alizeh’s mind was unable to rest, devoured every day a bit more by the voracious appetite of her fears.

Heart still thudding in her chest, she retreated inside.

Alizeh had searched the back alley beyond the kitchen each of the twelve times she’d come downstairs, but the Fesht boy had never turned up, and she couldn’t understand why. She’d scavenged from the remains of breakfast a few chunks of pumpkin bread, which she’d carefully wrapped in wax paper, and hid the rations under a loose floorboard in the pantry. The boy had seemed so hungry this morning that Alizeh could not imagine an explanation for his absence, not unless—

She added firewood to the stove, and hesitated. It was possible she’d hurt the boy too badly during their scuffle.

Sometimes Alizeh did not know her own strength.

She checked the kettles she’d set to boil, then glanced at the kitchen clock. There were still many hours left in the day, and she worried her hands wouldn’t survive the onslaught. Sacrifices would have to be made.

Alizeh sighed.

Quickly, she tore two strips of fabric from the hem of her apron. Alizeh, who made all her own clothes, quietly mourned the ruin of the piece, and then bandaged her wounds as best she could with blistered fingers. She would need to find time to visit the apothecary tomorrow. She had some coin now; she could afford to purchase salve, and maybe even a poultice.

Her hands, she hoped, would recover.

Having wrapped her wounds, the sharp edge of her torment began slowly to abate, the modicum of relief unbolting the vise from around her chest. In the aftermath she took a deep, bracing breath, experiencing a prickle of embarrassment at her own thoughts, at the dark turns they took with so little encouragement. Alizeh did not want to lose faith in this world; it was only that every pain she owned seemed to extract hope from her as payment.

Still, she considered, as she refilled her buckets with freshly boiled water, her parents would’ve wanted more for her. They would’ve wanted her to keep fighting.

One day, her father had said, this world will bow to you.

Just then came a sharp knock at the back door.

Alizeh straightened so quickly she nearly dropped the kettle. She tossed another glance around the unusually empty kitchen—there was so much work to be done today that the servants were granted no breaks—and snatched the hidden parcel from the pantry.

Carefully, she opened the door.

Alizeh blinked, then stepped back. It was Mrs. Sana staring at her, the bespectacled housekeeper from the Lojjan ambassador’s estate.

Stunned as she was, Alizeh nearly forgot to curtsy.

Housekeepers, who ruled their own little kingdoms, were not considered servants and did not wear snodas; as a result, they were due a level of respect that Alizeh was still learning. She bobbed a curtsy, then straightened.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. How may I help you?”

Mrs. Sana said nothing, only held out a small purse, which Alizeh accepted in her injured hand. She felt the weight of the coin at once.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Miss Huda was very pleased with the dress and would like to engage your services again.”

Alizeh went suddenly solid.

She dared not speak, dared not move for fear of ruining the moment. She tried to remember if she’d fallen asleep, if perhaps she was dreaming.

Mrs. Sana rapped her knuckles on the doorframe. “You’ve gone deaf, girl?”

Alizeh took a sharp breath. “No, ma’am,” she said quickly. “That is—yes, ma’am. I would— It would be my honor.”

Mrs. Sana sniffed at her, in a way that was becoming familiar. “Yes. I daresay it would be. And you’ll remember it the next time you speak ill of my mistress. She meant to send her maid, but I insisted on delivering the message myself. You understand my meaning.”

Alizeh lowered her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Miss Huda will need at least four gowns for the upcoming festivities, and one showpiece for the ball.”

Alizeh’s head snapped up. She did not know to which upcoming festivities Mrs. Sana was referring, and she did not care. “Miss Huda wants five gowns?”

“Will that be a problem?”

Alizeh heard a roar in her ears, experienced a terrifying disorientation. She worried she might cry, and she did not think she’d forgive herself if she did. “No, ma’am,” she managed to say. “No problem at all.”

“Good. You may come to the house tomorrow at nine in the evening.” A heavy pause. “After you finish your shift here.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you. Thank you for und—”

“Nine o’clock sharp, you understand?” And Mrs. Sana was gone, the door slamming shut behind her.

Alizeh could hold it in no longer. She slid to the floor and sobbed.





Nine